


tell me we're dead (and i'll love you even more)

by sparxwrites



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Demon Deals, Dreamscapes, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Monsters, Multi, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-19 12:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11897811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: She comes to him, unexpectedly, when Orthax is claws-and-beak-deep in him – has him down to the bone, gripped around the very core of him. He’s screaming, calling out formotherandKeylethandVex… and she is the one that answers. He’s both surprised, and somehownot, to see her here. He’d assumed (hoped) she was dead andgone, and it hurts worse than Orthax’s jagged deep edges inside him to know that that hope was in vain.(In which Percival meets Ripley again, in Hell - or as close to it as makes no odds - during the time he's dead.)





	tell me we're dead (and i'll love you even more)

She comes to him, unexpectedly, when Orthax is claws-and-beak-deep in him – has him down to the bone, gripped around the very core of him. He’s screaming, calling out for _mother_ and _Keyleth_ and _Vex_ … and she is the one that answers.

He’s both surprised, and somehow _not_ , to see her here. He’d assumed ( _hoped_ ) she was dead and _gone_ , and it hurts worse than Orthax’s jagged deep edges inside him to know that that hope was in vain.

“Oh, _Percival_ ,” she says, crouched by his side – and though she sounds sad, she’s _smiling_ as she traces a line down the split-open skin of his sternum. “What _have_ you gotten yourself into, hmm? I thought you were a _clever_ boy… but making deals with _demons_? _Really_? I may have to change my mind.”

Orthax rumbles low in its chest, smoke coalescing thicker and darker, the ember-glow of its eyes brightening – and Ripley _snarls_ at it, head whipping round and her teeth bared between thin, bloodless lips. “ _No_ ,” she snaps. “Let me have this, for god’s sake, before you take your stupid pound of flesh. You _owe_ me this.”

The demon seems surprised to be talked to in such a fashion, but its eyes dim, and the rumbling quiets. It slips its claws out of the blood-wet of Percy’s insides, and settles back on its bird-haunches, wicked ebony claws digging into the dust and dirt below. _After you, then,_ it whispers, a breath on the wind and a howl inside their heads, as it licks Percy’s gore from its insubstantial limbs.

“Ironic,” Percy breathes, all blood and powder-burnt lungs – and he wishes he could smile at her, sardonic and patronising, but his lips are cracked and bleeding with the dryness all around him. “You did the same, you know.”

But Ripley simply smiles, indulgently, and hitches her skirts up around her waist. “Oh, do shut up, Percival,” she says, and he’s surprised she’s jumped straight to _this_ , instead of taking the time to sink her _own_ claws into him. “That always was your problem, wasn’t it? You never _did_ know when to shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

And with that, she straddles him, settling her thighs around his hips and the fork of her legs against his, blood-hot and wet already at her core.

He’s not sure if it’s the nature of this place – a dreamscape-turned-hellscape where reality seems malleable, and truth optional – or whether she just trained him _exceptionally_ well in the week they spent together, a lifetime ago. Either way, he’s hard within moments of her touching him. He doesn’t _want_ to be, feels nothing other than hollow, empty horror and a gnawing sort of pain, but his body responds to her skin against his with all the enthusiasm shown to a favourite fantasy.

When she sinks down onto him – one hand gripped around the root of him, rubbing him against the dripping-slick of her folds before settling him inside her with a contented sigh – he goes into her easily. She fits around him as though he were _made_ for her, made for _this_ , taking all of him with ease and gripping him as though hungry for _more_.

The thought makes him feel a little sick.

And Orthax… the word _kiss_ is a strong one, loaded with implications of tenderness and care and passion, all utterly inappropriate for this. But its beak parts, and the smoke-substantial length of its tongue uncoils- and then it sets its mouth over his, the lower part of his face covered almost entirely within the width of its chitinous beak, and pushes its tongue down his throat until he chokes.

He wonders, wildly, whether it’s trying to swallow him.

But, no. The mockery of intimacy becomes clear as the tongue withdraws, after a long moment, licking around the roof of his mouth, his teeth, his lips, and then down the length of his neck to taste the salt-sweat and copper-blood streaked there, along with the gunpowder and filth.

Ripley watches the pair of them _intently_ , with a careful, hungry eye, as she rocks herself slow and easy where she’s settled on Percy’s cock – gradually building up her movements until she’s fucking herself on him with a steady rhythm. He watches her eyes roll up into her head as she pushes her hips down against him, his cock filling her, her mouth parting with slow, easy pleasure.

“Why are you _here_?” he asks her, voice rasp-raw from screaming and the sandpaper-smoke of Orthax’s tongue, as she rides him.

She smiles, open-mouthed and flushed high on her cheekbones with arousal and steady exertion. “Am I?” she asks, a little breathless, tongue curling over the white points of her teeth. “Am I here, Percival?”

“So you’re an illusion,” he says, swallowing hard, fingers white-knuckle curling into the ash beneath them as she sinks down again. Despite it all, despite everything, despite his insides leaking out and the outside world leaking _in_ , it feels _good_ , damn her. She’s wet, and tight, and gunpowder-spark hot around him, and she takes all of him easily to the root with every slick slide down. “Just- just like the others, f- _fuck_ -”

Ripley scowls, lifting her hips enough to let his cock slide out of her, and then settling back down over his hips to grind her clit and wet cunt over the slick length of his shaft. “Don’t you know,” she says, and he _feels_ the tremble-clench of her lips and inner muscles against him, as her clit catches on the head of his cock, “that it’s _rude_ to accuse a woman of not being real when she’s fucking you? _Ungrateful_ child.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but she’s shifting again, taking him back into her. He _aches_ , now, with more than just pain – with the tightness of unwanted arousal curling in his balls and the pit of his stomach, with the vice-like clamp of Ripley’s cock around him, with his own disgust and _guilt_. If he had the strength, he knows, he’d be fucking up into her on sheer instinct, short aborted thrusts of his hips he wouldn’t be able to help.

He’s almost grateful he’s too exhausted and broken to move.

When he finally manages to gather his words once more, lips still half-parted, Ripley must see it in his eyes. She slaps him – hard and sharp, her nails clawing furrows into his cheek.

“Please, _don’t_ ,” she says, watching her handprint bloom dark red on his pale cheek as she rides him, satisfaction evident in the half-lidded, glittering darkness of her eyes. Orthax pauses in its careful ministrations to the filth across Percy’s clavicles, and curls its tongue up Percy’s now-rosy cheek, lapping at the salt-sadness and sweat, to taste the heat of his skin beneath the blow. “I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth, clever boy, unless it’s you telling me how good I feel.” She pauses, and then _smiles_. “I do feel good, don’t I, _darling_?”

The word is Vex’s, and it’s so _wrong_ coming out of her mouth that it makes his skin crawl.

He feels like crying, overwhelmed and confused and lost, broken down into tiny, bite-sized pieces for the pair of them to consume – and, at this point, torn into and torn open and violated, touched in places he never asked to be touched, it seems pointless to fight the yawning void of grief in his chest. Here in the darkness, in the smoke-heat of Orthax’s embrace and the odd chill of Anna’s thighs around his hips, it doesn’t matter if he cries,

His parted-lips hesitation must be too long for her taste, because she raises her hand and slaps him again, leaving her palm pressed threateningly against his cheek by way of warning.

“ _Yes_ ,” he whispers.“Yes, it… it feels good. Y-yes.”

Anna smiles, pleased, and her fingers drop from his face to her cunt as she traces frantic slippery-wet circles around her clit. She comes around him quickly, abruptly – vice-tight and shuddering, gasping, groaning her way through the first of many orgasms to come.

And then – as Orthax’s alien tongue curls burning over one nipple, dips into the cleaved-open flesh in the middle of his chest, and smoke-hard claws push their sharp way into the soft insides of his mouth, stained copper-salty with his own blood – Percival gives in, and lets himself cry.

**Author's Note:**

> a commission for someone who wanted “psychological horror smut” involving the cheerfully-dubbed “trauma threesome” of percy, ripley, and orthax - which is absolutely up my alley, so i was delighted. i hugely enjoyed writing this, honestly, so thank you for the opportunity! the title for this fic comes from the poem "the torn-up road" by richard siken - it was a toss-up between that and _about the blood in your mouth_ from another poem of his, but i think this one works better.
> 
> come find me @sparxwrites on tumblr for more discussions of monsterfucking and torture (and other things, sometimes). you can find my commission info [here](http://sparxwrites.tumblr.com/commissions).


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